


In What Distant Deeps or Skies

by inloveandwar



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Gen, M/M, Underage Rape/Non-con, Young Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 02:05:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7415035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inloveandwar/pseuds/inloveandwar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is eleven.  Stiles has lost his mother to sickness. Stiles is losing his father to scotch and whiskey and his job.  Stiles has lost his virginity to his best friend’s dad.</p><p>Stiles thinks he can’t have that much more to lose, but McCall keeps reminding him that somehow he does. </p><p>Stiles is smart, he thinks McCall likes that about him.  He wishes he weren’t.  Most days he wishes he would lose the capacity to think at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fire of Thine Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be bad. It involves some very intense violence and abuse against 10 and 11 year old Stiles. Please take care of yourself and don’t read if you think it might be triggering. But just a mention, this isn’t just going to be a beat-up-on-Stiles-fic – well not entirely at least. I’m not putting happy ending, cause well there’s a lot of shit in this, but I’m still hoping for a redemptive ending. 
> 
> The entire thing is un-beta-d. All mistakes are my own. This is my first fanfic, let me know if any tags need to be added/changed.

The thing about it is Stiles is smart. Sure, he may have let his attention drift when they talked about it in class, but not so much that he didn’t get the gist. And even then, he’d still had the talk with his dad and his mom and Melissa and then his dad a few more times for good measure (there were few things the Sheriff was really obsessive about, but Stiles was a cute kid with a penchant for trouble, if nothing else he was making sure this stuck.) And there was also the fact that Stiles was too curious for his own good and quite resourceful and the Sheriff’s kid, which meant that without consciously trying he learned about things like Stockholm Syndrome and child grooming. So maybe Rafael could whisper toxic things into Stiles’ ear to keep him quiet when he first let his hands drift. Maybe he could feed off Stiles’ fear of having driven his mother to illness, of not wanting to stress his dad. Maybe Rafa could use his position of authority to make Stiles believe that Scott and Melissa would be disgusted with him. Maybe he can twist guilt and blame and shame onto Stiles, keep him too afraid and ashamed to ask for help at the start. 

But Stiles is smart and informed and never that good at keeping his mouth shut in the first place. So maybe that works for those first tentatively inappropriate moments late at night when Stiles was drowning in grief and his father was drowning in alcohol and the dirt on his mother’s grave was still fresh. But it doesn’t work for long. So things escalate. Because the thing is, McCall is smart too. He knows just how impulsive ten-year-old Stiles is. He knows that Stiles is a fighter, he knows that Stiles is a planner (they’re things that has drawn him to the boy in the first place.) Rafael doesn’t make the classic adult mistake of underestimating how devious a desperate Stiles can be. So his threats become bigger, his gestures larger, more intense. He loses it a little bit. Takes sick pleasure in the creative ways he can scare the boy to keep him quiet. It’s no longer subtle. It’s not even manipulative, not really. It’s violent. It’s McCall using his handcuffs and his gun and the kitchen knife. It’s Stiles covered in bruises that conveniently hide under his clothes. It’s threats upon threats upon threats – to Stiles, to his dad, to anyone Stiles even thinks about telling. The power is just too addictive, the struggle and the eventual acquiescence, just too good, too sweet for Rafa to give up. So he pushes his loaded firearm into Stiles’ back and makes him upload his own nude photos onto his father’s computer. Stiles’ small hands are shaking, with fear or rage Rafa can’t tell; it’s just as delicious either way. He knows Stiles will delete them as soon as he’s gone, but the implicit threat stands. It will make Stiles tear through the house over the weekend, throwing off couch cushions and knocking for hollow floorboards in search of the polaroids Rafa has promised him are there. 

“STILES! What in the hell?” John yells at the torn upholstery, the spilled contents of his dresser, the computer at the bottom of the full sink. But fury will dissipate into disappointment. “Just… can’t you just please try and make things easier for me. I can’t… I know this is hard for you, but I can’t do this if you are going to keep doing things like this. I mean what in the world would posses you to tear the house apart?” 

He’s already reaching for the whiskey. It breaks Stiles. He spends the night putting the house back together. He never did find the pictures. 

~)(~)(~

McCall tells Stiles three nights later, when he has Stiles sitting on his lap, that everyone would vouch for him. That if Stiles doesn’t please him he’ll kill the sheriff and get custody of Stiles. He spends an hour graphically detailing how easy it would be for him to rig a fire, or get the bruises splayed across Stiles’ ribs to put John behind bars. The Sheriff is consumed in his grief; it easy to see he’s drinking too much, and Stiles is such a tough kid, even those loyal would take pause. It won’t matter what Stiles says, Rafa tells him, it would be so easy. Can you imagine how much fun they’d have together, all the time? The motivation is more than enough for Stiles to deliver the best blowjob of McCall’s life after, although it certainly doesn’t hurt that his talk has him hard as a rock before Stiles’ knees have even hit the ground. 

“I hate you.” Stiles says afterward, once more seated in Rafa’s lap, his cheeks wet with tears, his mouth red and debauched. 

“I know.” McCall states, reaching around and groping the young boy’s ass. “Now kiss me.” 

Stiles does. 

~)(~)(~

It’s easy to pass off the panic attacks as a symptom of grief. It becomes less easy when he gets one after being tackled in a flag football game at recess. Or when health class sends him rushing to the bathroom puking his guts out three days in a row. 

Rafa takes a video of him sucking off his gun for half an hour to ‘build up his nerves’. The safety isn’t on and the muzzle tastes like poison and fire when it’s shoved in the back of his throat. McCall’s eyes are dark and he’s palming his crotch by the end like forcing a preteen boy to do sexual acts on a loaded weapon is just the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

He stops puking. He stops eating. 

~)(~)(~

He thinks that two can play this game. That he just needs something on McCall and then he won’t be so helpless. If he just has a chip to bargain with too, a weapon to point back, then he can still get out of this. So Stiles plans. He’s so careful; sets up his ipod in the corner, under a pile of clothes, checks and rechecks that it’s not visible. 

The video cuts off at 28 minutes, but it’s enough. Enough to show McCall touching him, hurting him, whispering his usual threats about staying silent. For once they’re both in the frame, and it makes Stiles sick to watch, his hands shaking so bad he can barely see, but he still feels better than he has in months. 

He’s at Scott’s house the next day after school. Rafael is making dinner but it’s okay because Scott and Melissa are there and nothing ever happens with Scott or Melissa there. He still hasn’t decided how to best use the video to his advantage. He’s been looking up encryption methods online, the vague idea of a plan formulating in his mind – something where the locked video gets anonymously sent to the police (not his dad though, someone else). He’ll tell Rafael that the password will automatically be given to them in twenty four hours unless he, Stiles, stops it, and he’ll only do that if Rafael packs his bags and leaves for good. It’s not perfect, a little too James Bond, but he’s hopeful for the first time in a long time. If he’s careful, this could actually work. He could actually be free. 

Scott’s in the bathroom when McCall calls Stiles into the kitchen to pick up some sodas he put out for the boys. It happens so fast he can’t even comprehend it. He’s walking into the kitchen and then there’s a rag being forced into his mouth and a hand pressed over it. McCall’s got him pinned and suddenly the pointer finger of his right hand is sideways. He screams, the pain is intense and throbbing, but the cloth muffles the noise. 

“Bet you thought you were pretty smart with the video, didn’t you Stiles?” McCall whispers into his ear. Stiles’ heart is racing. 

“Yeah, I bet you thought you were a regular old genius. Thought you could, what, blackmail me into leaving you alone?” He grips Stiles’ broken finger harder, making him groan into the dishcloth, tears streaming down his face. 

“But I’m smarter Stiles. No matter what. Remember that. So here’s what’s going to happen Stiles, I’m going to remove the cloth from your mouth and you are going to tell me where every copy of that video is, or I swear to god I’m going to break every single one of your fingers, and if you scream I’m going to have to kill anyone who hears you.”

His gun is on the counter. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t, not Melissa, not his own son. There would be no way for him to explain that. Except that he’s deranged and his eyes are crazy and intense and Stiles doesn’t doubt it for a second. 

“Do you understand me?” Stiles nods. 

“Are you going to be a good boy for me?” Stiles nods again. He can barely think around the pain and fear. The cloth is removed from his mouth, but his broken hand is still clamped in McCall’s grasp. 

“Well?” McCall says, looming over the smaller boy. 

“My ipod. It’s on my ipod, that’s the only one.” Stiles rasps, his voice choked from shock and pain. It’s true. He was too scared to copy it anywhere yet. 

“Give it to me.” McCall orders. 

With his good hand Stiles takes his ipod out of his pocket and offers it to the agent. McCall slips it into his jacket pocket, zips it in. He looks up and takes Stiles’ middle finger in his hand, pushing it backwards. 

“Anywhere else?” 

“No, nowhere, just the ipod.” McCall stays there for a moment longer straining Stiles’ finger backward but then he lets go. He nods. 

“You ever try anything like that again and I’m going to kill Melissa and frame your father for it. I’ll wait until there’s a night he’s passed out drunk without an alibi and I’ll shoot her, make it seem like she was trying to confront him about your abuse. Then I’ll take you and Scott away and however bad you think what you’re going through right now is, I promise you it will be nothing compared to the things I will do to you then. Understand?” 

Stiles nods, his voice is gone. 

“Good.” Then McCall pushes him down on the floor. He falls on his bad finger and cries out, unable to swallow the sound. It doesn’t matter. 

“Mel!” McCall is shouting. “Melissa!” 

McCall’s getting an ice pack out of the freezer, his anger replaced by a crinkled brow that does a good parody of concern. There are footsteps pounding down the hall and then Melissa is there. 

~)(~)(~

Later in the hospital, once his finger has been set and bandaged his dad will come. Stiles tells him the same story, about tripping, that he had told the doctors, that McCall had told Melissa. His dad kisses him on top of the head then goes to talk to Rafael in the hall, leaving the door ajar. 

McCall apologizes, tells his dad about the trip, the fall, the finger. Says he should have been watching more carefully. His dad says it wasn’t his fault. He knows his kid is clumsy. 

“Really, I have to say thank you.” His dad goes on. “You and Melissa have been so good with him and I know that I’ve asked too much of you. I know that he’s a lot and I haven’t been there like I should. But I just-I appreciate everything the two of you have done so much, it’s really been a lifesaver. He’s always so good when he comes back from your house – quiet and well behaved. I honestly don’t know how you do it.” 

McCall begins something like ‘it’s my pleasure-‘ and Stiles tunes out. He feels sick. His dad likes him like this. He likes him better after McCall has abused him. He’s easier. 

His dad gives him ice cream when he’s discharged. 

“Rafael says you were a really brave boy tonight.” His dad tells him. 

He throws up the ice cream. 

~)(~)(~

Stiles is smart. Stiles is afraid but there are certain things he won’t be complicit in, no matter the consequences. He doesn’t know how to go about it, but he knows he needs to find out. 

“How are things with your parents?” 

Scott and Stiles are lying on the roof of Stiles’ house as the sun sets. 

Scott shrugs. “They’re fine, I guess. Dad’s gone a lot. It kind of seems like they are avoiding each other to be honest.” 

Scott used to vent about the fights his parents would have to Stiles for hours, but since Stiles’ mom’s death he has mostly stopped. Maybe he feels like it’s a privilege to be able to make those complaints now.

“Do you, uh, do you like it when he’s around? Or do you look forward to him being gone?” 

“I don’t know. I mean, he’s my dad, you know? So of course I want him around. Except sometimes he’s just so… cold. And he says these things to my mom and they just get so mad at each other.” Scott pauses. “But, it’s always better when you’re around. My dad, he’s always better after you’ve been over. I don’t know why.” 

Stiles does. and he feels sick. But he’s still determined. He can’t be sure. Scott doesn’t show any of the classic signs – he’s googled them quite extensively. But that’s not necessarily proof. 

“Is he ever mean to you? I mean has he ever been mean to you? Or, or you know, like made you uncomfortable or anything?” 

Scott gives him a funny look. Stiles worries he may have pushed too far, made it too obvious. 

“Not really? I mean sometimes he’ll make these subtle remarks about how bad I am at sports or something. But mostly if he’s mad he’ll just ignore me.” Scott turns to look at Stiles. “What’s this about anyways? Why are you so interested in my dad?” 

“I just – I just feel like we haven’t really talked about how your parents are, since you know, my mom. And I just wanted to make sure everything was okay, and that you know you can still talk to me about stuff. If there was anything to talk about. I’d always be on your side, you know?” 

Maybe if Scott weren’t Scott, maybe if he weren’t quite so innocent, maybe if he didn’t always see sunny side up he wouldn’t accept this so easily. But he does. 

“Of course I know that, dude. But seriously, my dad might be kind of an ass at times, but he’s not like that. He’s a good guy at heart, you know that.” 

“Yeah I do.” Stiles chokes out. He’s got a lump in his throat. It’s relief he tells himself; he’s positive now that McCall hasn’t hurt Scott, Scott is always transparent – unlike conniving, tricky Stiles. He wouldn’t be able to pull off this conversation if anything was wrong. 

He’s relieved; it’s just him then. 

He wonders if jumping off the roof would kill him. 

~)(~)(~

Rafael is smart. It’s a week after the conversation on the roof and Rafa has come over to Stiles house early in the morning after the Sheriff has already left for work but before Stiles rides his bike to school. He goes for a run through the woods that are behind Stiles’ house and comes in through the back so no one will see. He’s got Stiles’ wrists handcuffed to the headboard of his dad’s bed and is straddling his thin hips. He likes the way his bulk dwarfs Stiles’ small frame. 

“I heard you had a conversation with Scott about me.” 

Stiles gaze, which had been fixedly pointed at the wall, snaps up to Rafa’s face. He’s brown eyes are wide and his face is scared. Rafa feels his dick harden. 

The detached part of Stiles’ brain is wondering, not for the first time, how McCall can possibly be so omnipotent, but the rest is set on panic. 

“I – I didn’t. I wouldn’t. Please.” Stiles sputters. 

“Shh. It’s okay Stiles.” McCall caresses Stiles’ face. He’s smiling patronizingly down at the young boy. 

“I know you were just trying to make sure all my attention was on you.” His big hand moves down Stiles’ neck, he presses his thumb into the hollow of his throat, feels Stiles’ thrumming pulse under his fingers, relishes the power.

“You don’t have to worry Stiles, you’re my only one. You do it so good for me. Better than Melissa ever could. I don’t need anyone else when I have you.” He reaches up and slips a finger into Stiles’ mouth. Stiles sucks it carefully, eager to please. The threat is clear, but Rafael decides to make it clearer. This is important. 

“But. If things were to ever change between us, if you were to ever think of some way to leave me, if you were to make me do something to you.” He shoves two more fingers into Stiles’ mouth, pushes them deep, making Stiles’ eyes shine with tears and his hands thrash against the bindings. “Well, then, I suppose Scott would make a good substitute. He is so beautifully innocent, isn’t he? He’d squirm so good. Especially when I told him that it’s what you wanted.” 

Rafael doesn’t think this is a threat he would follow up on, although his lines are getting blurred now, even for him. He’s already so far past anything he ever thought he would do. Still Scott doesn’t really entice him, not like Stiles does. But it hits Stiles hard; he can see the terror in the boy’s eyes. He removes his fingers. 

“Don’t please! Don’t! I’ll be good, I will! Please, just, just leave Scott alone – you don’t need him!” Stiles babbles. Rafael grins. This is just so sweet. 

“Shhh, I know you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize this would you?” 

“No! No, never. Just leave Scott alone.” 

“Good boy.” McCall says as he slides his hands under the band of the boy’s batman boxers. 

~)(~)(~

Stiles turns eleven on a Thursday. 

On the Tuesday before McCall tells him he’s growing into a big boy and gives him a plug to wear. Stiles blanches. Refuses. No way, no how. It’s not the first time they’ve talked about penetrative sex. But so far Stiles has always managed to talk him out of it. Stiles knew it was really only a matter of time though, even if he likes to cocoon himself in denial. 

“You can’t take this from me too. I swear I’ll tell someone. Please, Rafa, please don’t. Not this.” His tone vacillates from defiant to pleading. He knows from experience that neither will get him his way though. 

“Stiles, Stiles. You knew this was coming. You’re a smart boy. But of course if you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. I’ll just call Melissa and tell her to send Scott over. Or who’s that pretty girl in your class you like so much? Lydia was it? I’m sure I could convince her parents to let a federal agent baby sit for a little while.” 

Stiles face is white and drawn but he still throws the plug under his bed and refuses to wear it. He knows that in the end McCall always gets what he wants. He knows that any act of defiance is futile. But still he won’t, he can’t, be this active in his own deflowering. This is too much. He needs to hold on to this one small line.

His dad spends the next day at home throwing up. At six pm McCall sends Stiles a picture of the sheriffs coffee mug (#1 Dad) next to a bottle of Ipecac Syrup. On Thursday Stiles wears the plug and spends the morning throwing away all of the food in the cabinets and obsessively washing all the dishes. 

The plug is small but uncomfortable and humiliating and Stiles hates it more than any of the bruises that McCall has left on his body. 

That night after a cake that Stiles barely nibbles at, he loses his virginity. It hurts so bad he wonders how any one could possibly stand to do it voluntarily. McCall tells him it’s the best sex of his life, tells him he’s so beautiful between groans and unforgiving thrusts that split Stiles apart, spoons him tightly afterward and breathes soft snores into his hair. 

~)(~)(~

Stiles quickly decides that the plugs are the worst, worse than the act itself even. He fights and resists every time, but McCall is persistent and he always has more tricks up his sleeve. 

He picks Stiles up from school on a rainy day only for Stiles to find Lydia already in the car. McCall doesn’t so much as look at him the entire ride home, despite Stiles’ desperate attempts to get his attention. Rafael compliments Lydia on her hair, and squeezes her shoulder before she leaves the car. 

Stiles wears the plug for the next three days.

The thing about it is it never let Stiles forget. So far Stiles’ main way of coping has been compartmentalization. He pushes everything that happens behind closed doors – all the toxic and awful and dirty things that Raf does to him – and he piles them into a corner of his brain, imagines building a wall around it and separating it from everything else. In his mind he has a fortress, a moat, a herd of lions, whatever he can to keep the darkness of his alone time with Agent McCall from poisoning the rest of his life and utterly consuming him. He thinks, all things considered, that he’s actually managing pretty well. But the plug destroys those walls. He can’t sit in class and pretend to be a normal, well adjusted eleven year old when he’s got a tube of plastic lodged in his ass. 

~)(~)(~

Sitles finds the picture by accident, although he’s sure that somehow Rafael meant for it to happen. In the dimly lit photo Stiles is on his back in bed, hand wrapped around his hard dick, head back, eyes closed. It’s taped to the backside of the toilet bowl, where Stiles sometimes keeps notes he writes out confessing everything because he knows that the police will check there if they ever did a house search. Notes, which are predictably, gone now. He sits on the cold tile floor and cries, sobs like he did when his mom died. His dad is at work. He’s supposed to be at chess club, but he quit the team a month ago without letting his father know. He wonders if McCall will get his dad arrested or killed no matter what. Rafael is getting more reckless, and more unhinged. Maybe Raf will want to up the stakes no matter how good Stiles is. Maybe the only way Stiles can save his dad is by telling him. If he does it right, if he’s smart, he thinks that they could get McCall before he has the chance to carry out on any of his threats against Scott or Melissa. He has a picture, a whole folder of them actually, that he’s carefully buried under a tree in the woods (none with McCall recognizably in frame, but still.) He has the bruises, if not the more incriminating evidence (Raf always makes him shower, cleans him thoroughly after.) He knows his dad would believe him, even though it would kill him. 

But McCall would make bail, for sure. And then. And then anything he did would be on him, on Stiles. Anything that happened to Scott or Melissa, or his dad. And he may be just eleven, and he may be scared, but he just knows that these aren’t just idle threats, that if he pushes McCall into a corner bad things will happen. He’s stuck. And he’s never felt so helpless before. Not when his mom was dying, not when his dad is passed out on the couch with an empty bottle in his hand for the third night in a row. He cries into the towel on the floor and wishes that his mom were alive. 

No, he tells himself, McCall won’t escalate unless he’s forced to. He believes that. He has to believe that. Stiles can do this. He can deal with this. It doesn’t matter what happens, so long as no one else gets hurt because of him. 

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. 

~)(~)(~

Stiles is eleven. Stiles has lost his mother to sickness. Stiles is losing his father to scotch and whiskey and his job. Stiles has lost his virginity to his best friend’s dad.

Stiles thinks he can’t have that much more to lose, but McCall keeps reminding him that somehow he does. 

Stiles is smart, he thinks McCall likes that about him. He wishes he weren’t. Most days he wishes he would lose the capacity to think at all.


	2. On What Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like it doesn’t say good things about me that this chapter was much more difficult for me to write than the first one. Anyways, sorry for the wait I had some computer difficulties and was really trying to get the characterization and development of Stiles and Parrish to be true to their canon selves, their ages and their situations within this story, which I’m not sure I succeeded at but I did my best! 
> 
> By the by, all of the chapter titles/story title comes from William Blake’s The Tyger.

Jordan Parrish moves to Beacon Hills at 25, which makes him the youngest deputy at the sheriff station by eight years. He doesn’t really know what motivates him to come to the small town. He just knew he didn’t want a big city and when he saw an opening he thought it felt right, felt like somewhere he might be able to heal from his time in the service. 

After three months though, he thinks he might have been wrong. The town doesn’t exactly have a blooming population of twenty somethings, and well, Jordan was never that good at putting himself out there in the first place. So he lives alone in his small fourth story apartment. He gets up early to go for a run, he throws himself into his new job, goes home late, cooks himself simple but solid meals, goes to bed early, wakes to nightmares. Rinse. Lather. Repeat. At therapy every Tuesday he talks about how his hands shake when he’s measuring the flour but never seem to waver when he’s holding a gun. His therapist tells him she’s pleased with his progress; he tells himself it’s making a difference. 

He likes the Sheriff, he likes his coworkers, but he can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t really helping no matter what he tells his mother in their infrequent phone calls. But Jordan is patient and persistent, it’s what made him good on the bomb squad, so he keeps on and pretends that handing out speeding tickets and canvassing for a lost terrier is doing enough good to settle the black marks the war has left on his psyche. 

~)(~)(~

Jordan meets Stiles the way most people meet Stiles: when he’s doing something he isn’t supposed to be. 

Parrish is in the records room, looking at some backlogged reports on robberies to see if he can connect any to a current case he’s working on. He’s tired, and distracted by thoughts of whether there will be any coffee left in the pot in the break room. Or whether he should be trying to curb his caffeine addiction at the expense of a little mid-afternoon lassitude. 

So he doesn’t immediately notice the young boy at the end of the row he’s just turned on to. And even when he sees him, he wonders if he isn’t mistaken, if maybe he’s more tired than he realized. Because this is a secure area, with keycards and a front desk officer barring entry, and there’s just no way a little kid could have been approved to have free reign over the archives back here. 

And yet, there he is. A shock of brown hair and eyes that are quickly darting across the file he’s pulled out. All by himself. 

He shocks badly when Jordan calls out, flinching into the shelves behind him, panic across his face as he sees Jordan and apparently recognizes how caught he is. 

“This isn’t what it looks like,” he’ll say, when Parrish has got a hand around the his arm and is directing him back into the main station, set on getting answers. 

It’s the first of many lies he’ll tell the deputy. 

~)(~)(~

Jordan doesn’t get very far with the kid in tow before someone’s calling after him- or rather after the kid he has with him - in an exasperated and unsurprised tone and he’s redirected into the sheriff’s office. The sheriff, who seems even more exasperated and unsurprised by his entry and his young charge. 

“This little delinquent belongs to me. Thank you Deputy Parrish, but I’ll take it from here,” 

“Of course, Sheriff. If you were wondering I brought the case he was looking through,” 

The Sheriff breaks the steely glare he's been leveling at the kid, who is apparently his son, to make a gesture for Parrish to hand over the file. 

Jordan is already stepping out of the office as Sheriff Stilinski starts in.

“Stiles, what the hell were you thinking? Why are you digging up a six-year old report on a domestic disturbance at the McCalls’? Do you really just have such disregard for any and all limitations that you think you can just waltz around breaking the law without consequence?” 

The incident intrigues Parrish more than he'd like to admit. 

~)(~)(~

After their first fraught encounter, he gives Stiles a wide berth. He doesn’t really like kids, too unpredictable, too impressionable. Especially ones that have a history of law breaking.

It doesn’t work for long. The sheriff is desperate to balance his kid and his work in the void of becoming a single parent. Jordan is desperate to make a good impression at his new job, and without a social life he is often the last one at the station at night. And well, as the youngest and newest member of the force he is automatically relegated to the grunt work. All of which culminates to Parrish frequently being unofficially assigned Stiles-duty, when Stiles is so often found lurking about the station in the afternoons and can’t seem to go two minutes without getting into trouble. 

The thing is Stiles is actually kind of helpful – full of trouble, incredibly distracting, but helpful nonetheless. It becomes very clear from very early on that Stiles knows the sheriff station better than most of the deputies and doesn’t harbor any ill will against Parrish for their first encounter. And for Parrish, new to the town, who keeps getting lost on his way to the bathroom, who can’t seem to figure out the sheriff’s insanely complicated, but supposedly brilliant, filing system, well Stiles is actually kind of a godsend. Which, granted, doesn’t negate the fact that he is also a total menace. But, however improbably, they sort of work together. 

He gets warned of course. By the sheriff, by literally all of the deputies, by the janitorial staff, the fire department, a couple people he passes on the street, that Stiles is trouble. And really the warnings are pretty redundant anyways, it’s very clear from the beginning. The kid is trouble. But he also just might be worth it. 

~)(~)(~

It doesn’t take long for Parrish to realize that Stiles is smart, exceptionally so. He may not be making top marks in his classes, but Jordan realizes after the third time he inexplicably points a case in the right direction that it’s not for lack of brainpower. 

They fall into something of an inconstant routine. Stiles turns up, at what seems to Parrish to be more or less at random, although never during school hours. Sometimes he bugs Tara until she lets him play with her nephew’s Gameboy; sometimes he won’t settle in any one place and bounces around stealing snacks from the lounge, playing various pranks or simply seemingly vanishing into the deeps of the office to undoubtedly stir up trouble; once in a blue moon he’ll sit quietly and actually do something that appears for all intents and purposes to be schoolwork, although Parrish isn’t totally convinced. More often than not, however, Stiles will end up at Parrish’s desk. He steals all the Reese's out of Parrish’s secret candy drawer (even after Parrish starts locking it). He puts Parrish’s stapler and paperclips in jello. He organizes Jordan’s files, while also looking through them (to Jordan’s chagrin but also immense relief – the filing system really is a nightmare; he is slightly mollified, however, after a guilt stricken confession to Graeme that had her laughing and assuring him that Stiles had got to all of their cases at one point or another.) 

Stiles tells him to check Mr. Ross’s raccoon trap for Mrs. Thompson’s terrier, that Mr. Proctor is left-handed meaning he wouldn’t have left a mark on the victim’s left cheek had he been the one to throw the alleged punch, that there’s no way a robber could have escaped down the alley off Fifth because Hector, a homeless man Stiles has apparently befriended, always sleeps there at that time and would have told Stiles about anyone suspiciously making a quick getaway. 

It’s a breach of protocol, a security threat, and a criminal offense for Stiles to have information on the investigations, but damn if it isn’t helpful. 

~)(~)(~

Parrish is under the mistaken idea that finding productive outlets for Stiles’ creative energies will stop the boy from snooping through official police work. Stiles likes challenges and has a knack for creative thinking and problem solving. Jordan’s solution? Riddles. 

“Eleven.”

“Eleven is six; six is three; three is five; five is four; four is four.” 

“Four is four?”

“Four is four.” 

“Two.”

“Two is three; three is five; five is four; four is four.” 

“Is ten three?”

“You get it?”

“Please, too easy,” But there’s still a proud gleam in his eye for the rest of the day. 

~)(~)(~

“So the prisoners can’t talk to each other?”

“Nope, no talking, no hand signals; nothing.”

“And there’s no reflective surface that they’re facing where they could see the hats?”

“Just a wall.” 

“Well, obviously if guy number three sees two blue hats he’ll know he’s wearing red and can then tell the guard and they’ll go free.” 

“And if that’s not the case?” Stiles is squinting one eye more and drumming his fingers along the table. 

~)(~)(~

“But dad I don’t want to go to Scott’s. Why can’t I just stay here? I promise I’ll be no trouble, you won’t even know I’m around!” 

Jordan’s just finished his shift when he hears Stiles’ voice coming from his dad’s office. 

“Stiles, the last time you promised not to be trouble I came home to my computer getting a bath. What’s been with you lately? Scott’s your best friend why wouldn’t you want to go over to his house?” 

There’s a beat of silence. “Stiles, did you and Scott have a fight?” 

There’s an answer that’s too mumbled for Jordan to catch. 

“What was that Stiles?”

“We didn’t have a fight, okay? He just always beats me at all the video games and I’m sick of it! Please, can I just go home?” 

The sheriff snorts, “That’s no reason for you to avoid him.” 

Jordan steps forward, “Sheriff, I’m headed out, but if Stiles wants I could take him to the diner until your shift is over. I was planning on going over there anyways to get a bite.” 

He wasn’t, but now that its been proposed the idea is sounding more and more appealing to him. Especially after watching the way Stiles’ face light up like someone just told him Spiderman was doing meet-and-greets at Beacon’s library. 

“Thanks Parrish, I appreciate the offer, I do, but Stiles can manage to hang out with his friend regardless of video game apropos. “ 

“No dad, please! Let me go with Parrish! He even said he owed me after I drew him a map of the preserve last week.” He had. Drawn from memory, it had been detailed with trails and destinations and rough but accurate distances, making it clear to Parrish that while the boy’s attention may be all over the place he was definitely taking in certain things with an impressive voracity. “I’m sure it’s no trouble for him!” 

“Stiles– “ the sheriff begins but Jordan cuts him off, “Really it wouldn’t be sir. And to be fair, I did say I owed him, he has helped me out more than a few times.” 

The sheriff finally turns to him, giving the proposal a real consideration for the first time. He has a critical eye on his youngest deputy as if he’s trying to discern why exactly anyone would voluntarily take Stiles off his hands. Whatever he finds in Parrish’s face must appease him though, because he relents. 

“Fine. Stiles you can go with Deputy Parrish to the diner as long as you behave! I don’t want to hear anything but how you were perfectly respectful and well-behaved!” 

Stiles’ grin splits ear to ear as he takes the twenty his dad holds out.

~)(~)(~

They debate about the strengths of different superhero’s (Stiles likes the self-made ones like Batman and Ironman) and how realistic X-Men-like genetic mutation is (the kid has a surprising grasp of genetics and evolution). Stiles picks at his curly fries before surrendering the mostly full plate to Jordan, who has found he’s famished once presented with food. 

It’s a surprisingly good time, which is what makes Jordan decide to offer to let Stiles come along to practice lacrosse with him after, when the sheriff texts that he’ll be working late and Stiles should head to Scott’s when they’ve finished dinner. It might also be the way Stiles’ face falls when he gets his dad’s message. Lacrosse is more fun with a partner anyways. 

It’s something Jordan’s gotten back into the habit of since he moved to town. He used to play in high school, but didn’t pick up the stick again after graduation until he happened to run across his old gear when he was packing to move to Beacon Hills. His therapist has told him that doing things with his hands is good, and that staying active can be beneficial for recovery. So, he figures that there are probably worse ways to spend his time than playing around on the field every once in a while. And it’s fun, brings him back to a lighter time when he worried about making goals and taking tests and didn’t feel the crush of mortality with every step. 

~)(~)(~

Stiles is good at a lot of things; lacrosse, as it turns out, is not one of them. 

He’s quick, but not in the right ways – entirely too flail-y, too twitchy. He’s small too, even for a ten-year-old; scrawny to an extent that Parrish didn’t realize under the bundle of shirts and hoodies he dawned at the station (he still plays in long sleeves, much to Jordan’s confusion, but it’s clear now that not only is the kid missing any shred of fat, but he has very little muscle to speak of.) He doesn’t stay on target well, which, yeah, Jordan kind of expected based on prior experiences. 

To his surprise, however, Stiles doesn’t shirk from the ball though, like many new players, running towards throws without the slightest hesitation. But he does shrink from contact with other players. It’s probably the biggest hiccup to his game. Parrish will make a move to block, just a twitch forward and the boy is scrambling back, a look of something desperate and frightened in his eyes. Jordan taps him with his stick on the shoulder, in mock of a check, and Stiles reacts like Jordan’s coming at him with a baseball bat. Jordan doesn’t like it. It’s not like the precocious boy in the station who breaks into drawers and needles the deputies. The unnatural stillness that comes over him when Jordan reaches out and grabs his hand to adjust his grip; the flinch when Parrish raises his stick for a throw; the way his hands start to tremble when they bump shoulders; it paints a picture of a far less stable boy than the one he thought he knew.

But fumbles aside, it’s more fun than practicing alone had been. And Stiles, despite his obviously lackluster performance, smiles brightly at the end and asks if he can come again. 

Jordan surprises himself by readily agreeing. 

~)(~)(~

“You’re awfully quiet tonight.”

“Huh?” Stiles says, distractedly. Parrish is on front desk duty and Stiles, as usual is posted up next to him seeming to actually be doing homework for once. It has been a quiet night and while Jordan doesn’t mind triple checking the day’s patrol log, it’s not strictly speaking necessary. Stiles’ hands have been twice as twitchy as normal, scrubbing aggressively through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck, drumming along the table, but his mouth has been stubbornly and uncharacteristically shut the entire hour he’s been sitting in the break room. 

“You’re quiet. Normally by now I would know at least three different theories on one of the cases which you are in no way supposed to have information on.” 

“Yeah, well, I guess it’s just your lucky day then,” Stiles’ voice has a dark lilt to it that Jordan really doesn’t like. If he wasn’t convinced before that something was off with the kid he certainly is now. 

“Hey. Hey, Stiles look at me.” He reaches forward and grabs the kid’s hands to still them and capture the boy’s attention. “What’s going on with you? Is this about your finger?” 

His finger, which is now encased in a pretty impressive splint. He’d mumbled something about a trip, but it must have been one hell of a bad angle from the way it’s wrapped up. 

“No, it’s not about my finger. My finger is fine. Isn’t there a saying about not looking a gifted horse in the mouth or something? Can you please just let me do my work?”

For all that Stiles can grate on peoples nerves, he rarely actually becomes petulant or childlike, the markers of annoyance from prepubescent boys everywhere. Now, however, his tone is both those things, and it takes Jordan aback. He puts down his pen, and gives Stiles his full attention. 

“Stiles you know that you’re talking doesn’t bother me, right?” Stiles huffs. “I mean, sure, I’m not going to say that I’ve never wished for a bit of silence, but I like talking to you. You’re funny and helpful and if that wasn’t true I’d have told you so.” 

Stiles makes a noncommittal sound in response and resolutely does not look at Jordan. 

“Hey come on let’s go to the lounge, I know for a fact that Davidson is hiding leftover cake in a box labeled kale in the fridge.” Whether the kids are three or thirteen the best way Jordan has found to deal with bad moods always boils down to distraction. 

“I’m not hungry.” Jordan frowns and assesses. Stiles loves sweets, Stiles hates homework. Something is very wrong. 

“Sure, okay… Anything interesting happen today?” 

“School.” 

“Ah… Do anything after school?” Parrish feels lost. 

“I was at Scott’s.” Hm. This can’t be a video game thing can it? 

Parrish is smart, good at solving puzzles. It’s one of the reasons he and Stiles get on as well as they do. But there are some mysteries about the mood swings of preteens that the deputy thinks he can’t even begin to unravel as all further inquires are met with similar recalcitrance and the rest of his shift passes in fitful silence. 

~)(~)(~

“Alright, riddle me this Batman,” Stiles breaks in, without preamble. “No, wait, if anyone here is batman it’s me since I’m actually always the one who is solving these stupid riddles,” 

“Stiles, your very own introduction clearly implies you’re the Riddler – “ 

“ – Hey now, just because I have a somewhat looser interpretation – “

“ – And if I’m any superhero it’s obviously Captain America,” 

“Oh my god, you’re so right! It’s perfect; the blondness, the obsession with fitness and upholding the letter of the law, the complete inability to use modern technology-“

“Wait, what? I don’t have an inability to use technology,” 

Stiles scoffs, “Oh please, Jay, your password is your—yours to-to know, and yours only. Because it’s a password. Which only you would know. Since that’s, ah, how passwords work.” 

“Stiles. Random question, but you wouldn’t have happened to hack my password and gotten on to my computer now would you? My computer, which contains official police information the tampering of which is a criminal offense?”

“What? No! Jeez, Deputy, I think you’re taking this whole ‘I’m the riddler thing’ a little too seriously. Because that is just not something I would do. Since I respect you. And your job. And your computer. And you know really now that I think about it I think you really would fit better as batman, since you both are so clever. And good with computers! And uh, well there’s just tons of other similarities too. I mean I bet you also really like bats. So. Yeah that’s a much better fit. Anywho, I should really be on my way-” He’s already making a break for the front office, riddle forgotten.

“I’m changing my password, Nigma!” Jordan calls after him.

“Aye, aye, Captain” Stiles does a fake salute before closing the door behind him. Jordan sighs and sets about to resetting his computer security. When did this become his life. 

~)(~)(~

It’s eleven o’clock when Parrish finally decides to give up on rest. It’s one of the bad nights, the ones where every close of his eyes opens to hot sand and gunfire and chaos. They don’t happen very often anymore, but they linger every once in a while when the moon is just right, the air sharp and oppressive in its twilight. He drives to the preserve and takes a run through the dark woods; pushes until his muscles scream, until he’s not thinking about anything other than the effort it takes to keep the momentum he has going. 

It’s almost midnight when he gets back to his car and has started to drizzle. He doesn’t know if he feels any better, but now at least his body wants rest even if his mind still feels haunted. 

The streets of Beacon Hills are empty at this late hour and he knows Rogers on the night shift is probably wheedling his way through his Sudoku book back at the station. 

He doesn’t see the figure until he’s almost on top of them, shrouded as they are by the dark and the rain, which is coming down with intent now, hammering against the windshield of his car like it’s trying to break through. The person doesn’t turn to look at the oncoming car seemingly intent on their objective of walking wherever it is they are going at this time of night. They have a few plastic bags in their hands, a dark hoody pulled up over their head. When the headlights pass over them Parrish realizes it’s gotta be a kid, their stature is small, thin. He pulls over. 

“Hey, you need a ri—Stiles??” 

The kid had drawn away from the stopped car (which, probably a smart move Parrish acknowledges) but from the glow of the streetlamp he can now see that it’s unmistakably Stiles who’s standing there in the rain on the side of the road. Parrish feels utterly bewildered. Stiles, if it’s possible, looks equally as shocked, his mouth hanging open in surprise. There’s a moment where it’s just them looking at each other and the sound of the rain coming down hitting the car and splashing off the pavement and snaking trails like tears down the young boy’s face. 

“Get in the car,” Parrish orders, breaking the silence and reaching over to throw the door open. Stiles, to his credit, does without putting up the argument Jordan half expects. 

“Heeey Jordan, fancy seeing you here,” Stiles begins as soon as the door is closed. He’s rubbing the back of his neck in a surefire indication that he’s uncomfortable. And probably about to lie. 

“Stiles, want to tell me what on earth you are doing wandering the side of the road at midnight in a rain storm?” 

“Right to the chase, I guess. Nice to see you too, Parrish. And well, to be fair, it wasn’t raining when I started out,” 

Parrish throws him his best no-nonsense look; brow furrowed, expression flat. Now he’s tired, and he’s confused and he wants answers. Stiles raises his hands up in submission, “Fine, fine, I get it no small talk. If you must know I was getting groceries,” 

Parrish frowns harder. Now that he looks he sees that the plastic bags at Stiles’ feet are indeed filled with food, which raises more questions than it really answers. 

“Why in the world did you need groceries in the middle of the night? Does your dad know you’re out here?” Jordan suspects he knows the answer already. 

Stiles eyes are alight and his arms are in motion (although his hands have a slight tremor to them. Jordan reaches over and cranks the heat), “Look, I know how this looks okay? But it’s really perfectly reasonable. I couldn’t sleep. We didn’t have much food. If I didn’t go to the store then dad would have woken up and not had anything to eat for breakfast and you of all people should know how unpleasant he is without breakfast. Really you should be thanking me. I did you a favor. I’m sure my dad will thank me when he wakes up to his filling breakfast of champs: poptarts, lucky charms, extra strong coffee and all. Really the better question is what you are doing at this hour trolling for young boys, deputy.” 

“I am not trolling for young boys, Stiles, Jesus! I went out for a run because I couldn’t sleep, which I can do because I’m an adult unlike certain people for whom it isn’t safe to be wondering the streets in the middle of the night alone! What if your dad wakes up and you’re not home? What then Stiles? Did you even think about what he would go through if he sees you’re not in bed and doesn’t’ know where you are?” 

Stiles in the seat beside him has gone quiet, turned his face away towards the window. “He won’t wake up.” 

There’s a conviction to his voice that makes Jordan hesitate. 

“He sleeps deep,” Stiles tacks on as if to answer Jordan’s unease. 

“Stiles… You know you can’t do things like this. You’re smart and I know that you know it’s not okay. What are you really doing out here so late?”

The wet kid in his car stays quiet. Jordan is starting to doubt he’ll get any answer at all. 

“I was sleepwalking.”

“If you’re not going to tell me the truth-“ 

“Not to the grocery store; I sleepwalked into the yard, it’s something that happens sometimes. I woke up under the maple tree out back and I was already outside and I… I just I wanted to get away from the house for a bit, so—grocery shopping,” He shrugs a bit at the end. “Are you going to tell my dad?” 

Jordan sighs. He’s sort of startled to realize that he believes Stiles – well, mostly believes him; he suspects there is more to this story.

“Stiles, you know I have to. He has a right to know,” 

They are pulling up outside his house by now, the rain having tapered back somewhat during the drive. Stiles makes an indistinctive noise of acceptance and moves towards the door. Jordan gets out too, grabbing some of Stiles’ bags as he does so, set on making sure that his troublesome charge makes it to the door of his house; this night has dark depths that it seems unsettled both he and Stiles. They walk silently up the drive.

“Whelp, thanks for the ride Deputy Do-Good,” Stiles reaches for the door handle but Jordan grabs his arm.

“Hey Stiles, next time you feel like wandering about after dark call me. I’ll give you a ride to the grocery store.” 

It’s not what he should say, probably. He knows that he should leave Stiles with a stern chastisement and tell him never to repeat this stunt, but Stiles has never taken ultimatums that well anyways. The boy always seems to do whatever he pleases anyhow, so at least he can ask to be clued in so someone is. Maybe, just maybe it’ll stick. Stiles doesn’t turn around but he gives a stiff nod before slipping inside his dark house. 

Parrish sits in his car outside after, watching a light click on then off – not because he thinks Stiles might try and sneak out again, well not entirely – but mostly just processing. Stiles is impulsive, and sneaky, and he wouldn’t be deterred by something so inconsequential as darkness – all of this was true. But still. Groceries? He felt he was missing something in this tale, felt like there must have been bigger demons that drove the kid into the night. 

Well, his mom had just died. Jordan rubs a hand through his hair, troubled, before finally turning the car around and heading back to his home. 

He tells the sheriff in the morning. It’s not a conversation he was looking forward to having, but he doesn’t think he can get around it. The sheriff gives a tired sigh, thanks Parrish for giving Stiles a ride and promises to deal with it. 

Parrish walks away wondering how he plans to do such a thing. 

~)(~)(~

Jordan throws down the controller in frustration. Stiles is laughing manically. It’s their fifth round of Call of Duty and Parrish hasn’t even come close to beating Stiles. He used to be good at these sort of things, but Stiles is good good. 

“Ah now, don’t feel bad. I mean hey, you’re in good company – Scott’s never beaten me either,” 

Parrish frowns, “I thought you said Scott always beat you at video games.” 

“What?”

“You told your dad you didn’t want to go over his house because Scott always won.”

“Oh. Well, man, that was like two weeks ago, right? A lot has changed since then. And now, as you can see, I’m pretty much undefeatable.” 

“Right.” 

~)(~)(~ 

Jordan pauses, tea bag dangling down into the cup. He turns toward Stiles, seated up on the counter top. They’re making dinner at Jordan’s apartment after a brief session of lacrosse. Stiles has been rambling about the history of male circumcision, but Jordan’s mind has been elsewhere. 

“Stiles, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be truthful about it. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, okay?” Jordan’s serious. He’s got his cop face on and Stiles suddenly feels like his heart might burst from how rapidly it begins to beat. 

“Uh, okay. If this is about those ringtones I set then—”

“No, Stiles this isn’t about—wait, what ringtones? Dammit,” Parrish says while fishing around for his phone all of a sudden. No, wait, he can’t get distracted, the ringtones don’t matter. He takes a deep breath. He’s a cop and things haven’t been adding up for a while now; the bruises he’s caught a glimpse on Stiles’ arm, his flinching during lacrosse, his lack of friends or a social life. There’s only so much he can ignore. 

“Are you being bullied at school?” Jordan is looking him right in the eye. He phrases it like a question even though he is already pretty sure of the answer. 

Stiles blinks. Once, twice, three times. 

Then he breaks Jordan’s gaze, scrubs a hand through the mop of his hair and says, “Uh, yeah. I, uh, have. I mean, I am…Being bullied…I guess.” 

Jordan isn’t sure why he finds the admission relieving. 

~)(~)(~ 

“Hey sheriff, I was wondering if you had a minute to talk,” Jordan’s been working himself up to this all day. 

“Sure, Parrish, come on in. I was just finishing up signing off on reports,” 

Jordan carefully closes the door behind him and takes a seat in front of the sheriff’s desk, behind which Stilinski is still shuffling around papers.

“Is this about the Garfield case, because I still think there was someone else involved. He had to have a look out-“

“I agree, sheriff. But this isn’t about the case, or work at all, actually,” Jordan cuts in. 

“Oh?” The sheriff raises an eyebrow. 

“Actually, sir, I was hoping I could talk to you about Stiles, sir,” 

The sheriff lets out a long-suffering sigh, setting his papers down lightly. “I thought this might be coming. Listen, Parrish, I know that you didn’t move here to babysit some smartass kid– “ 

“No! No, that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I don’t mind having him around. He’s actually been quite helpful,” Parrish quickly clarifies. Shoot, this is already going badly. 

“He’s been helpful?” The sheriff says slowly, his tone skeptical.

“Yeah, I mean he clearly knows the town pretty well. He’s helped me learn the ropes, so to speak. He’s a smart kid, I don’t mind having him around.”

“Okay,” Stilinski leans back in his chair, still looking at Parrish with a critical eye, “so, what exactly is it about Stiles that you wanted to discuss?” 

Jordan takes a deep breath, “I had a conversation with him the other day about his school life. He admitted to me that he has been being bullied by some of the other kids, I didn’t get any names out of him, but it was my impression it might go beyond playground teasing. I just wanted to make sure you were aware.” 

The sheriff looks surprised, “Bullied?”

“Yes sir,” 

“And you think it’s serious?” 

Parrish shifts in his seat a little uncomfortably, but doesn’t break eye contact with the man, “He wouldn’t go into detail with me about it, but he admitted it happened. And he has bruises, he hides them under long sleeves but I’ve seen them on his wrists on more than one occasion. He doesn’t have many friends, and well you know as well as I do that kids his age they can be brutal. I gave him some tips for avoiding confrontation and standing up for himself, but I thought you should know, and maybe clue his teachers in too.” 

The sheriff’s face is set and focused now, serious in the way he is when he’s dealing with cases; Jordan’s become intimately familiar with it. 

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention Parrish, I’ll make sure to talk to him and his teachers,” the sheriff turns away in a clear dismissal. 

“Actually, there was something else, sir.” 

“Oh?”

“It’s not really any of my business, but the way Stiles acts – his high energy and trouble staying on task… it reminds me of a kid I used to know back in school who had ADHD. I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, sir, and I’m no doctor, but I think it might be worth having Stiles tested.” 

“ADHD?” 

The sheriff has spent a lot of this conversation repeating things that Parrish has just said. 

“Attention deficit-“ Parrish quickly begins.

“I know what it stands for,” His voice suddenly sounds very tired. He scrubs a hand over his face. In the low light the bags under his eyes stand out starkly. 

~)(~)(~

“Are you gay?” 

“Excuse me?” Parrish had been absorbed in filling out a report and hadn’t even realized Stiles had entered the room. 

“I heard Tara talking about trying to set you up on a date with one of her guy friends. Are you gay?” 

Jordan sets down his pen, realizing that this is probably going to be a conversation he’s going to need to give his whole attention to. 

“I identify myself as bi-sexual, meaning that I am attracted to both men and women,” he says slowly. 

“Have you ever had sex with a guy before?” Stiles has plopped down in the chair opposite Jordan and is looking him directly in the eye with no apparent qualms about the question at all. 

Okay, Jordan thinks. Stiles is a kid, he’s learning about his body, his dad has other things on his mind, it’s normal for him to be curious or confused about certain things. Thinking back to his own education, yeah, fifth grade is around the time they started to talk about those parts of your body, if he remembered correctly. It’s okay to have questions, normal even. And it was important for kids to have someone they felt comfortable enough to talk with about this. Jordan should feel flattered really. He could do this; he could have this discussion. Except. Except that this was delicate, and there were very fine lines and Jordan was feeling increasingly out of his depth and the silence was stretching on just a little too long but Stiles wasn’t backing down. Okay deep breathe Jordan, firm but kind. Professional. 

“Stiles, it’s not appropriate for me to discuss my personal experiences with you, and it makes me uncomfortable to be asked to do so,” he paused both to let that sink in and to formulate the right words for what he wanted to say next, “but if you have questions about your own feelings or experiences, I would be happy to talk with you about it, as I’m sure would your father if you asked him. It’s normal at your age to be curious.” 

Stiles finally looks properly abashed by the response, his eyes averting down towards his hands. 

“I… Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” 

“That’s alright… What brought it up?” 

“Just you know some things kids are saying at school is all,” 

Jordan sighs, he feels like he finally might be getting a picture of Stiles’ motives, “Stiles, kids at your age, they like to talk about these things like they have everything figured out, but take it from someone who has been there, they don’t, and neither do you and that’s okay. You’re young, you have time to learn about yourself and others and that’s okay, there’s no rush. And I promise you, whatever you’re feeling right now is absolutely perfectly normal,” 

Stiles brings his feet up onto the chair and wraps his arms around his legs, making himself small and contained. It’s a striking juxtaposition from the way he had confidently walked in earlier. He looks more serious than Jordan thinks he’s ever seen him. The room is silent except for the thrum of the air vents, but Jordan doesn’t feel the urge to say anymore. He thinks that Stiles might be gearing up to speak again and he doesn’t want to distract from that. Finally in a small voice, Stiles breaks the silence: 

“What if I don’t like sex? What if… what if I don’t want to have sex with anybody ever?” Stiles’ big brown eyes dart quickly to his as he’s talking and then dart away. He’s clearly uncomfortable. Jordan’s heart melts a little; he remembers this. Well, maybe not this exactly, but he remembers the awkward transition where everything was foreign and scary and nothing, when not even his own body made sense anymore. 

“Then you don’t have to have sex with anybody. Ever. No one should ever make or pressure you to do something that you don’t want to, and you shouldn’t let yourself be pressured by what you think you should want or do. I know it might not feel this way right now, but the truth is peoples’ attitudes and approaches towards intimacy vary a huge deal from person to person – but as long as they aren’t harmful or dangerous to themselves or others, they are all okay – normal, even. Some people really love sex with anyone, others don’t like it at all no matter the person, and some people only like it with certain people or under certain circumstances – but whatever the case may be it’s all perfectly healthy and normal. You are entitled to feel however you want about it and no one should tell you otherwise. It’s okay if you don’t want to have sex right now; you’re too young to be having sex anyways – you will be for a while. As you get older and mature more your feelings might change, or they might not – either way is perfectly fine. Whatever the case may be and whatever those kids at school are telling you, try not to worry too much about it, okay kid? I know it might be confusing and overwhelming at the moment, but you don’t have to make all these decisions right now. Nothing is ever set in stone; you can always change your mind. You have a long time to decide if or with who you want be intimate with,”

Jordan’s not sure if he’s saying too much. Is Stiles too young to be talking about this with?

Stiles eyes are big and he’s hugging himself tight, but Jordan can tell that he’s focused and listening. He’s chewing on his bottom lip. He nods slightly at the end of Jordan’s speech and then averts his gaze towards the wall. There’s another pause. 

“Right. Okay. Yeah… But, uh, when would be a normal—or healthy, I guess—time for me to, uh, be ‘intimate’ with someone, if I wanted to?” His candor from earlier seems completely gone, although he does unwrap his arms long enough to make silly air quotes around the word intimate, to show his opinion of Jordan’s careful euphuism. 

“Well, there’s no magical time when it suddenly becomes normal or healthy, it’s really all about when you feel ready and are mature enough to understand the implications of what you’re doing, and your partner is as well. Whether this happens when you’re twenty or when you’re forty, or never, it’s all perfectly healthy and okay. Every individual is different.” 

“But I’m too young right now… So, when do I stop ‘being too young’?” Stiles’ voice is bereft of any of his usual challenge when he’s engaged in discussion; it’s soft and unassuming but tinged with an under current of what Parrish wants to classify as urgency. 

Jordan frowns. He thought he had a hold on this discussion, where Stiles was coming from, what was running through his head. But now… First he’s asking if it’s okay to never have sex and now he wants to know the earliest possible time it’s acceptable for him to? It seems contradictory, but then again, Stiles is probably just confused by different information from different sources. After all, if his school is anything like Jordan’s and they’ve touched upon any sort of real sex-ed yet, then they are probably preaching abstinence until marriage, while Stiles’ might be hearing – hopefully – older kids talk about sex in a cavalier manner (he remembers some of the absurd stories that had circulated his own junior high, maybe not down to fifth grade, but things are different in different places, he guesses.) He supposes it’s normal to want a little concrete clarification between the two extremes. 

“Well, it’s different for everyone. Like I said, there is no magical age past which everyone is ready and before which everyone is not – although federal law states that twelve is the absolute minimum age of consent, but I think that that is still awful young for most people. No matter what the other kids are saying, it’s not something that you want to rush into because it can have very serious consequences, like pregnancy or sexually transmitted diseases to name only a few. It’s important that you and your partner are fully able to appreciate this weight so that you are both safe and happy. It’s always better to wait then to do something you aren’t sure of or to do something just because your friends are or because you think you should…. It’s also worth mentioning that it’s not just about your own ready-ness, being intimate requires two people, so even if you feel ready you have to make sure that you are with someone you feel comfortable with and that they are on the same page as you, and even then you have to make sure that the situation is right. Sometimes it can take a while for everything to line up after you decide you’re ready – which is perfectly fine. And just because you might come to a point where you are ready to have sex with one person doesn’t mean you are necessarily ready to have sex with anyone,” Jordan pauses, he didn’t mean to get quite so carried away, Stiles’ is only ten after all; he maybe doesn’t need all of this. But then he had asked. “But just –there’s no hurry, okay Stiles? Give it a couple years and then a couple more for good measure before you make any decisions.” He almost wants to say until you’re at least 16, but he doesn’t want to give Stiles’ any concrete number like that lest he feel obligated as soon as he’s 16. 

Stiles is looking impossibly young wrapped up in his chair, his eyes darting from the wall and back to Jordan uncertainly. He gives an aborted half-nod but doesn’t say anything else. 

“Does that– Is that helpful for you?” Jordan finally says uncertain of where to go from here. The comment seems to spur Stiles from whatever quiet place he retreated to. He puts his feet down on the floor and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah, thanks Jordan. I got it – wait till I’m older, make sure I’m safe and it’s consensual, and don’t be afraid to be my own special snowflake. Yet another informative message brought to me by your friendly neighborhood deputy. But I gotta be going now.” 

He’s already turned and walking towards the door when Jordan calls out, “Wait, Stiles- you know you can always talk to me about this stuff if you have any other questions, or… or if anything or anyone ever makes you feel uncomfortable - just I’m here, okay? I’ll listen.” 

Stiles doesn’t turn around again but his whole body has frozen at Jordan’s words. He nods slowly and silently and without speaking exits the room, closing the door behind him. Jordan sighs, bringing his hands up and rubbing them down his face. Of all the things he thought he would do at this job, talking about sex with his boss’s 10-year-old son was not one of them. God he hopes he didn’t screw this up. 

~)(~)(~

Jordan is in Toys R Us. This is not a place he wants to be. 

Stiles is turning eleven on Thursday, and it only feels right to give him something on the occasion. The Sheriff has invited him to come over for dinner and cake and Stiles is a kid – there are certain expectations that need to be lived up to. The problem is, of course, that Jordan has no idea what to get Stiles. Hence the Toys R Us trip. Except none of this seems like things that Stiles would like. He’s toyed with different comic books, movies, maybe a book or something. But he has no idea what Stiles already has. And none of it feels right. Not for Stiles. 

In desperation, he’d asked a nice looking clerk to help him find something appropriate for an eleven-year old. She’d pointed him to some Legos, a puzzle game that he’s sure the boy would find insultingly easy, and a nerf gun – because Stiles really needs more ammunition. 

After an agonizingly long time and three more stores, he finally settles on the extended edition Lord of the Rings trilogy set and a new lacrosse stick that will hopefully actually fit the kid better than the old one of Jordan’s he had been using. 

He tells himself that he’s not disappointed by the markedly muted response his gifts receive the following night, since Stiles has seemed off since he arrived: reserved and spacy and generally un-Stiles like. The kid only perked up to dawn the most serious and utterly concentrated look Jordan’s ever seen on him before squeezing his eyes shut and blowing out the candles on the cake he’ll barely touch.

Something tells Jordan that he wasn’t wishing for a lacrosse stick. 

~)(~)(~

“Damn it,” the sheriff huffs in frustration scrubbing at his chin. 

“Sir?” 

“I just- Stiles is sick. I was hoping I could go head back for lunch to check on him, but, I guess I’ll just call on my way. Maybe I can ask McCall to head over real quick,” There’s been a fire on the outskirts of town in the early hours of that morning. Bad one. It’s pretty much all hands on deck. 

“If you’d like I could drop by your house real quick. It’s on the way to the Fire Department so I could check in on Stiles and then head over to do the interview with the crew there,” 

The sheriff looks conflicted, likely weighing how much of an abuse of power that would be, but he caves quickly enough. He wants to make sure Stiles is okay, it was just the kid’s birthday after all. 

“Okay, if you’re sure you’re okay doing it. You don’t have to do anything just drop in and make sure he’s still alive. And maybe take his temperature, he was running a low fever this morning... And tell him to drink something,” 

“Will do, sir” 

~)(~)(~

The house is quiet when Parrish arrives, the lights off. 

“Stiles?” He calls out. He sweeps through the living room and kitchen, creaks up the stairs. There’s a heaviness in the air that makes him ill at ease, like he can feel the weight of discomfort lingering in the shadows. Stiles isn’t in his room either, but his pillow and blanket are gone. The sheriff’s room is messy and just as empty as Stiles’ had been. Jordan frowns, starts opening other doors, searching through closets, Stiles is a small kid – he could squeeze in a lot of places should he desire to do so. There’s a steady thrum of anxiety that has been growing since Parrish arrived. 

The bathroom door is cracked open but Parrish still knocks anyway. There’s no response. The door creaks as it opens, slowly, so slow. A burst of plaid is curled in the tub, a tuft of messy brown hair: Stiles. Jordan let’s out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“Stiles?” He calls softly. The pile of blankets shifts some, but remains quiet. He takes a seat on the edge of the tub. 

“Hey kiddo, your dad sent me over to check on you. Told me you aren’t feeling so good today.” 

Big brown eyes have made an appearance above the quilt edge and are peering up at him. Parrish reaches down to try and feel his forehead for heat but Stiles flinches away from his touch. 

“Hey, it’s okay, I just want to check your temperature your dad said you were running a fever.” 

“m’fine. Go away.” The bundle of blanket shifts as Stiles evidently turns away to face the wall. 

“Sure, right, of course you are. And the sooner I verify that the sooner I can leave you alone to your sleep tub,” 

There’s a long bit of silence that stretches so long Parrish doesn’t think Stiles will cooperate, but he finally slowly turns back away from the wall. Reason tends to work well with the boy. Most of the time, anyway. 

Parrish reaches his hand out, slow and steady towards Stiles again, who has his eyes glued to the offending appendage. The boy shivers when his palm makes contact but doesn’t flinch away this time. His forehead doesn’t feel warm, but his face is pale and drawn, and Jordan didn’t miss his subtle wince when he’d turned over. Maybe it’s a stomach thing? It would explain the locale. 

He leaves the house after supplying the kid with a glass of ginger ale, a piece of toast and the house phone. He makes him promise to call if things get worse before he drives away to do his job. 

~)(~)(~

His hands are clenching and unclenching around the pillow to his chest. Jordan bets it’s an unconscious gesture. 

“You want to talk about it?” 

“No.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t want to push, there’s no point. Even if Stiles weren’t the most stubborn kid to ever exist it still wouldn’t help things. The silence is complete around them. 

Stiles is over at Jordan’s apartment, having come after Jordan’s shift ended while the sheriff remained at work. It was becoming a familiar pattern. Whatever rift had opened between Stiles and Scott Parrish was beginning to think it ran deeper than a videogame rivalry judging by Stiles intense and growing aversion to spending time at their house. 

Jordan leans back against the wall. “I get nightmares too you know.” Stiles glances over, he doesn’t really seem interested but he doesn’t say anything. 

“Before I was a deputy I was in the military. I did a tour in Afghanistan. I dream about what happened there, or sometimes I dream about what could have happened, or other times I dream about twisted scenarios that never could have happened but still haunt me…But all of the dreams are hard for me to let go of when I wake up.” 

There’s another pause. There are salty tracks down Stiles’ cheeks from the tears that had come out when he had awoken gasping from an impromptu nap on Jordan’s couch, only to become hysterical when Parrish had reached out to comfort him. His hair is sleep-disheveled and Parrish wonders if his cheek bones have always been so sharp, the rings under his eyes always so dark. He looks so very young. 

“That sucks for you.” Parrish laughs despite himself. 

“Yeah it does.” They sit in silence again, backs against the wall, tucked into the corner of the room where Stiles, in his panic, had scrambled moments ago.

“It’s not really fair is it?” Stiles finally says, “Like it’s not enough that some people have bad things happen to them when they’re awake but then just to add insult to injury they have to have the part of their lives that is supposed to be peaceful and restful disturbed by it too? While other people get to like only see flowers and rainbows and Telly Tubbies during the day AND they get to dream about lollypops and like puppies. Seems like overkill if you ask me, like someone’s really stacking the deck here.” 

Parrish chuckles softly, but says seriously, “No, it’s really not fair at all.” 

“… I dream about my mom.” Parrish waits for Stiles to continue. 

“I just, I really miss her, you know? I thought…I thought it would get easier with time. Everyone expects it to be easier for me, for me to be getting over it, but I’m not. I’m not getting over it. I don’t want to get over it. I just want it not to have happened. Everything went wrong when she got sick and now everything is such a mess and I-I need her. I need my mom.” Stiles is crying, his words coming out fast and raspy now, “It’s not fair. It’s so not fair, why did she have to leave? Why her? I needed her! And-and dad needs her. None of this is working without her…” 

“Hey, hey, Stiles shhhh.” Parrish scoots over and wraps his arm around Stiles’ shaking frame. The boy, for his part, latches on to Jordan’s shirt. He climbs in his lap and tucks his head into Parrish’s chest and sobs. Jordan wraps both arms around him and rocks him gently back and forth. Damn, this kid. Jordan’s eyes are a little moist. “It’s okay, Stiles. It’s okay to miss her. It’s okay to be sad, no one expects you to just get over this. It’s not something you’ll ever be over.” He whispers into the boy’s hair. “But it is something you’ll learn to get better at living with… But it’s okay to be hurting, right now, and it’s okay to show that to other people. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

Are eleven year olds supposed to be this light? he wonders idly as he cradles the small boy in tears in his lap. 

~)(~)(~

When Stiles has calmed and the night has finally completely descended into inky darkness, the clouds hanging low and heavy, the sheriff finally arrives to collect him. Stiles has fallen into a uneasy doze again, exhausted and sniffling on the couch.

Jordan relates the episode and Stilinski sighs and mumbles something about adjusting ADHD meds. 

The lines on his face crinkle as he looks at his kid spread out on the couch, but before he can nudge Stiles back into consciousness, Jordan stops him, “John, I know things haven’t been easy for either of you since your wife passed, but you should know that Stiles is always welcome here. He’s a good kid, and I’m happy to have him around or help out in other ways…if you need anything. It’s okay to need help, nobody expects this to be easy. Not for either of you.” 

The sheriff is crouching in front of the couch, he doesn’t reply right away, just reaches out and gently pushes a lock of hair out of Stiles’ face. The kid scrunches his nose but doesn’t wake. 

“He looks so much like her, you know? My wife, Claudia. His eyes, and energy and the way he moves… I love this kid so much, but… sometimes it just hurts to look at,” there’s a pause and Parrish wants to say something but doesn’t quite know how to shape his words. Before he can, John shakes his head and sighs, breaking whatever vulnerability has just transpired, “What I’m trying to say is thank you, Jordan. I know it’s not your job or your responsibility to look after my son but I can’t tell you how much it means to me… And to him too, he really looks up to you,” 

“It’s no trouble, sir”

~)(~)(~

It’s a Wednesday afternoon, which means that Deputy Jordan Parrish is manning the front desk when Agent McCall walks into the station. 

“Special Agent Rafael McCall, I’m here to drop off a file for the sheriff.” 

“Sure, you can head right on back.” Parrish responds, quickly scanning over his credentials. 

“Great… You must be Stilinski’s new deputy? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

“That’s right, Jordan Parrish, sir.” 

“Nice to meet you, Deputy Parrish, I’ve heard good things. Hey, is Stiles running around here somewhere? I thought I might take him out of your hair for a bit, let him play with my son Scott for the afternoon.”

“Oh, well actually—“

“I’m not coming over today. Parrish is taking me to play lacrosse.” 

Jordan wasn’t aware Stiles had come into the room, but his voice cuts sharply from the entryway. His body language is full of tension, arms crossed and voice hard in a way that Parrish has learned means he’s dug his heels in and won’t be swayed no matter the pressure exerted.

“Lacrosse?” Agent McCall has his eyebrows raised and is staring with a slight slick smirk down at Stiles. 

“Uh, yeah. I used to play back in high school and Stiles has taken an interest in the sport so I’ve been showing him some moves when we get the chance. I was going to take him out to the field when my shift ends in half an hour, but if he’d rather go hang out with Scott-“

“No!” Stiles interrupts. Both McCall and Parrish turn towards him at his emphatic reaction, McCall with an amused smirk and Parrish with a furrowed brow. 

“I mean, it’s just important to me to keep practicing. Don’t you always say it’s all about consistency, Jay? I’d hate to jeopardize my training by missing a day.” 

Parrish opens his mouth to retort that one day won’t make a difference, but before he can McCall snorts.

“Now I see, so Deputy Parrish is the reason you’re never around my house anymore,” His voice is still light and his facial expression amused but there’s an undercurrent of something that Jordan doesn’t like. McCall shrugs, casually putting his hands in his pockets and continuing, “but I’m glad you’ve been doing something worthwhile with your time. Physical activity is important for growing boys. Maybe I’ll try and get Scott to come out and play a game with me too, the kid could really use some more exercise.” 

Stiles is standing still. Very still. It’s unnerving. There’s no tapping fingers or bouncing legs, his eyes aren’t darting around the room but instead all of his attention seems entirely fixed on the conversation happening around him. It’s odd, to say the least, considering Jordan has seen superhero movies to which that he’s paid less attention. He looks like he wants to say something or maybe do something; like he’s poised to spring, but instead he just stands, quiet and still and tense. 

“Well, Scott’s welcome to join us anytime. I have some old gear he could use and it’s easier to play with more people. I’d be happy to have him come along,” Jordan breaks the silence. It’s not much but Parrish thinks he sees just the slightest ease in the tension in Stiles’ body at his words. 

“That’s a great idea! Scott should come today! I’ll call him right now!” There’s energy back in Stiles’ voice, but it feels like it’s edging towards frantic. 

“No, now that you mention it I think it would be good for Scott and I to have some father-son time, while you run along with the good deputy here. It’s been awhile since I’ve spent some quality time with just my son,” 

Stiles face twists just a fraction. It’s gone in an instant, followed by a strange blankness, but for a second there was something like pain etched on his features. Then he slowly turns toward Parrish, carefully, like he doesn’t want to take his eyes off McCall. 

“I actually don’t want to play lacrosse today. Now that I think about it I’d rather hang out with Scott.” 

“Okay, whatever you want Stiles, as long as it’s alright with Agent McCall,” Jordan says slowly. 

“If Stiles is sure it’s what he wants, than I suppose I can wait to spend time with Scott. I’d hate to get in the way of friendship.” McCall responds lightly, his eyes fixed on Stiles, who nods in assent. “Right, well then I’m going to drop this off with your dad and then we can take off. Stiles, why don’t you go wait in the car.” 

Stiles walks stiltedly out towards the exit, stilling when McCall lightly pats his shoulder along the way. 

McCall watches with a smirk before turning and giving Parrish a slight shrug, and moving back towards the sheriff’s office. 

“It was nice to meet you, deputy,” he says minutes later, when he’s reappeared and is heading out the way Stiles had just disappeared. 

“Likewise,” the young deputy replies, frowning. 

He feels, not for the first time, like he’s missing something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think so far, I love hearing your comments!


End file.
